


Happy happiness

by Griffinous56



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Blame Oscar Wilde, Everybody Dies, Heavy Angst, Multi, The Happy Prince AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19751686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffinous56/pseuds/Griffinous56
Summary: A story of two lost souls meet and an end that isn’t meant to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ghost (noun): the spirit of a dead person, sometimes represented as a pale, almost transparent image of that person that some people believe appears to people who are alive.

The moment the young hatchling flies through the rusty door, only to have the ever pouring rain to greet it, it has resigned to its fate. It’s helplessly lost with no way to track back its pack. The hatchling buzzes sadly, its small body drenched in the rain as it flies down the soakings street away from the stag station, mind filled with grief and regret as it reproach itself for straying from the pack in first place.  _ Shouldn’t listen to that Belfly,  _ it thinks grumpily,  _ Why did I even follow that Belfly in the first place. _

Perhaps it was because none other hatch mates are willing play partners, either wordlessly following their equally stoic and silent master or roosting upon a broken lifeless husk on the road when not busy chasing down another target rather than spending time with their old sibling. Too consumed by loneliness it even dared to play with and followed an unknown Belfly that it should attacked, not befriended. And looks where it is now, lost and soaked wet and so so exhausted from all the flying, and the culprit Belfly is nowhere to be seen.

_ There’s no use crying over spilled milk _ , the small hatchling thinks as it makes a beeline toward the many uninhabited blocks in the drowning city. It should find somewhere to roost, to regain its energy in order to look for its pack.

The small hatchling freezes when it see an empty husk with bright orange eyes walks past it, the urge to attack rises up again. No, need to find pack. Pack first, purpose later. Which means it can’t stay here, in a building full of infected corpses.

The fly mind goes back to the city square and the big fountain in the middle of it.

* * *

The city square is as empty as it remembers, free of wandering husks and the downpour isn’t as so bad compared to other places it could think of. The big statue at the middle of the fountain is ever the looming presence, standing solemnly in the rain. It’s a steady, comforting presence and just by being nearby makes the fly feels safe. 

There’s a dry place at the statue’s feet, hollow and small enough for the fly to fit right in. Moss also gathers there, making it a nice soft bed. A nice place to hide from unforgiving constant rain and wandering husks. And with the silver light gleaming off the statue? It almost gives an air of royalty. 

That is, if not for an especially large drop of water suddenly falls on it when the hatchling prepares to settle in, drenching it entirely. It jumps, buzzing furiously as it looks for the culprit when another falls onto its head. Then, the hatchling hears a soft chuckle from somewhere near.

“I’m sorry I,” the voice clears its throat from what suspiciously sounds like a laugh. “I didn’t expect to have anyone resting here. Are you ok little fly?”

The hatchling stops, and looks behind it.

The statue smooth head is looking at it expectedly when they starts to speak again, a lone bright pale crystal for an eye reflects soft lumaflies lantern’s light. “It’s been so long since I have a visitor here. Please excuse my manners if I disturb your rest.” 

The light and joking tone somehow makes the fly feels that the statue isn’t so sincere as they claim to be. But it doesn’t mind that, watching at water starts to gather in the statue hollowed eye socket until the small puddle breaks and trickles down again when the surface tension gets too big, running down their silver cheek. It looks like…

“You’re crying?” The small hatchling gets closer as water gathers in that place again, seemingly forgets its problems now.

Even though the statue face is ever the same, they somehow give off an expression of surprise. “Am I? It’s hard to tell, being in this rain for far too long.”

The fly crooks it head, curious. For being the oldest hatchling of the pack, it also gains some memories of its master, and so small fly remembers how this statue has been here long before the moment its master entered the city, before the infection even. But for how long, it cannot tell.

“Exactly how long anyway?” Curious in nature, the hatchling asks, resting on the statue thorax. It’s a little bit slippery.

“For as long as I can remember,” the statue hums as if in though. “From the moment I were putted here, long before those mindless husks, when this squared once filled with bustling crowds of bugs from different kinds, living together in harmony.”

Ah. “That is quite a long time…”

“It is,” the statue agrees. Then, with a more enthusiasm tone, they say: “But that’s enough about me. Can you tell me your name?”

The fly pauses, silent. It is just a small hatchling, never meant to life this long let alone having a name of its own. But now that this statue has asked, the small hatchling guesses it’s about time to choose one for itself.

“Ghost,” it chirps back, small wings buzzing in excitement. “My name’s Ghost.” It doesn’t know why did it choose this name, but it’s the first thing that comes to its mind. The fly likes it. It likes it very much.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ghost.” Says the statue. And even though it can’t clearly see the statue face in this position, Ghost can see a bright glint glowing from the statue lone eye. It’s beautiful. “Would you mind if I asked you a small flavor? Just one request, and I’ll promise to shield you from the rain and the cold with my power.”

The fly blinks, once, twice, then blurts out a dumbfounded “What—“

But before Ghost can express its confusion, the statue continues, seemingly unawares of the small fly expression. “A few days ago, a grey bug had came here to place a small delicate flower on my plaque as if offered it to me. But I know, deep down, that flower is meant for a mantis resting in the depth of the green, behind a thorny path. That warrior had more than enough skill and power to go there by herself, but she didn’t, couldn’t.”

“If you can, please, take that flower and deliver it to her love’s grave. And I’ll promise to shield you from anything for tonight, even provide you with some soul. With this deed done, her soul will finally be at rest, retreating from the past gruesome life that this rotten kingdom had inflicted onto her.”

“I can’t,” Ghost fidgets, uncomfortable at the term “thorny path”, but also for a good reason. “I’m sorry but I can’t do it. I have to rest to resume my reach for my pack. The pack need me.  _ I need them. _ ”

“Had it not been for being fastened to this pedestal, I would have go and deliver the flower myself. You’re the only one who can help me now, Ghost. Please, fly for me.” The statue begs, and the fly perks up at the mention of being need.

“...Alright,” Ghost agrees, albeit a bit reluctantly, flying down to search for the said flower. On the statue feet laid a lone flower, its white petals gleaming silver in the rain, unlike anything thing it has ever seen inside this dark ruin of the old kingdom.  _ Just one flower,  _ Ghost thinks when picking it up. The flower feels so light in its clumsy limps.  _ Just one small request, can’t be that hard. _

“I’ll be your delivery boy for tonight then,” Ghost says, fly up to face the statue. The hatchling can faintly remember the path to the lushly green garden, a memories fragment from its master. “You better charge up your soul because I’ll be back soon!” Ghost says cheekily.

Relieved, the statue thanks it in a breathy and grateful voice.

That night, the statue shields it so well it can’t even feel the cold anymore, thanks to the nice ghostly shield create from what looks like a crest on the statue chest. It doesn’t feel as tired as before, having the statue providing the fly soul anytime it needs. In a peaceful moment, Ghost drifts off into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of its pack.

* * *

It’s a nice and slow morning after that night. The fountain water is refreshing and crispy enough the fly can take a bath in it without worrying too much about the cold. Last night was a lengthy flight, Ghost grimaces, and even though the statue was a great help in sheltering it from the cold and the rain, the fly is exhausted. Ghost can feels how its soul gauge gets lower and lower as it spends more time separated from its master, its pack, despite how much soul the statue offers. No other hatchling has been going alone as long as it has, and Ghost doesn’t intend to find out what happen when its soul runs out.

It has to leave soon, Ghost decides. It has to, and Ghost will have to bid the statue goodbye.

Things never go as what the small fly want to.

Right before Ghost can says its farewell, the statue speaks, voice as sad and solemn as last night. Completely opposite of what Ghost hopes to hear.

“Can you see, just now, a hooded traveler walked past here with a sharp nail strapped to his waist?”

“...Hey hang on a sec—.”

The statue continues, promptly ignores it. “I know him and burdens he has, had, to carry. Selflessly carry out his mission for the sake of his dear Mistress, of the old King. Now his tasks is over, he has no more goal in life, no one left to return too. Did his suits and fulfilled his role, what’s left for him after that? The knight like him, a life without purpose is a life without a destination, stuck behind without knowing how to keep up.”

“Wait, I—.”

“To be able to see the state of the world, of the people living in it, I don’t know whether or not is it a blessing. Because right now all I all sense from him is the emptiness, a sense of sorrow that’s foreign yet familiar to me. He’s out there all alone, by the calming blue lake, age-old-burden has been lifted off his shoulder but the pain, the weight is still there, as the ghostly reminder of what was there. Anchored down deep into the lake—.”

“Alright I get it!” The fly fumes, irritated as it fly up to face the statue. “I’ll go and be your messenger again! Just tell me what should I bring with me this time.”

“The Hallownest seal on my chest plate.”

The fly stops its erratic buzzing and hovers silently in the air for one second, then two, and then three. It’s staring at the statue, waiting for the being to take back their words. Because that couldn’t be true.

Having spent a night close to the statue, the fly now knows how they can last this long in the rain without getting eroded. It was the seal and the power bestowed within. Without it, the old statue will get eroded quickly by the constant and unforgiving rain of this place. (And silently the fly afraids to have it happens to them. The statue is already in a bad shape with small cracks and breaks running all over their body. The magic seal can protect them from the rain, but not the wind and time.)

“...Are you sure?” Skeptically, it asks, feels the need to make sure of this.

“Please, be my messenger again. Fly for me, Ghost, and I promise to provide you with all the soul you need.”

The hatchling notices the change in the statue request. And for one silence moment, the fly buzzes in place, deep in thoughts. And comes to a conclusion.

_ This statue really knows how to push others around when they want to. _

Then, comes a soft begging voice: “Please, Ghost.”

Damnit.

The fly ducks down to pluck the Hallownest Seal from its crest and flies away. Searching for the familiar bug with a hood and friendly voice.

* * *

“Ghost, I want to make one more request—.”

“Denied.” The fly concludes, harsh and quick, as it hovers before the statue face. Their white crystal eye shines a bit and the fly wishes it could get lost in it.  _ But not now, not when it’s tired and weary from the last night rain, despite the statue best effort to keep it dry. _ It couldn’t sleep much last night, didn’t dream of anything, and it’s worrying because it can feels how the bond between itself and the pack is slowly loosening as it speaks. 

“I have to go,” Ghost quickly continues, because it knows if it hesitated for one more second, the statue will wash it away. “I have to go, to my master, to my pack. But I promise I’ll come back. And when I do, I’ll bring you a crystal from a place call Crystal Peak, for you to make it as your other eye. But right now, I have to go.”

“...I can see, down in the darkness of the Beast’s den, at the furthest reach of the world. I see a huntress, cloaked in the ever fierce red cloak, sitting in the old bed chamber and mourning for the lost of her mother.”

And Ghost can only stares at the statue in disbelief as they continue, completely ignores the small hatchling. “Hey, don’t you hear what I just say—.”

“Dedicated her whole life to protect this rotten kingdom and trying to fix the mistakes of those from the past. (“No, stop. I don’t—.” Ghost desperately tries to interrupt. It’s useless.) I can see how the weights of responsibility anchor her back in this place, when she has all the right to leave, have no obligation to not to leave. Yet, she bears cangues of that mission with pride, not backing down when it’s the hardest. Building a defensive cold wall around herself as she does so.”

“Take my white crystal and bring it to her. It can help the huntress with her solitary, grants courage,  _ hopes.  _ Be my messenger one last time, Ghost. That’s my last request.”

“But…,” The fly replies, unsure with itself.  _ But it is your only eye. Without it, how can you see anymore? _

“You’re the only one I can ask of this. Please, Ghost, fly for me.”

_ Unbelievable. Stubborn, bullheaded, idiot. Selfish—. _

Ghost plucks the beautiful jewel from the statue eye socket and carries it to the scarlet huntress place, the crystal feels so light and fragile in its hold. Before it goes back, the fly brushes their face against the smooth surface of the crystal, taking in its beauty before setting it down in the sleeping spider palm and flies away, mind burdened with thoughts. When Ghost comes back in the death of night, the statue has already prepares their welcomed and thanks. And Ghost misses, oh how the small hatchling miss the bright sheen of the white crystal that’s no longer there to greet it after each flights.

“Enough,” Ghost starts, interrupts the statue mid thanks. And they no longer ignore it like two time before, becomes silent as it talks. Good, makes this easier. “I won’t leave anymore. I’ll stay here with you.”

“I can no longer shelter you from the rain, nor can I provide you the soul you need.” The statue carefully starts, voice getting lower and lower as they speak, clearly confused. “I won’t be of use to you anymore if you choose to stay here, under this unforgiving rain and in danger of wandering empty husks.”

But none of that matters. Ghost thinks back to its pack, of how it’s lost and how its pack doesn’t come looking for it. It then thinks of going back to those days, wandering around emptily as it couldn’t carry out its initial purpose, meant to die, never to survive.

And the hatchling thinks back to the last three days. Three days of companion and fulfillment and the feeling of being need.

“I’ll stay with you always.”

“But—.”

_ “I’ll stay with you always.” _ Ghost repeats, concludes, flying up to face the empty eyes sockets of the statue that are full of glistening water, reminds it so much of tears and the pale glint of a lone crystal that used to be there. Then it snuggles its way back to its favorite roosting on the statue shoulder despite their weak protest.

_ Let me be your eyes and ears, let me help you at helping others. Let me be with you, and your wish shall be my command. _

_...Please don’t abandon me too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So am I success at making you not using Glowing Womb charm now?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Echo (noun): a sound that is heard after it has been reflected off a surface such as a wall or a cliff.

Lemm narrows his eyes and looks up, squinting at the small silhouette of the fly that just flew past his shop. It’s strikingly familiar, with the stark white mask and the dark shade cloak, but he can’t quite put a finger on it.

The small fly identity bothers him for a good five minutes before Lemms lets it slides. Bah, just another small fly anyway.

“Welcome back, Ghost.” The statue greets it warmly upon its return when they hear the familiar buzzing sound, roosting on their shoulder as it always does. “Can you tell me what you saw today?”

Ghost is acting as the statue eyes and ears most of the time now.

“Like usual, many die today, succumbed to the plague,” Ghost says, bored as it shocked the water of its small body, because that’s how this conversation always starts. “Today I went to the small lonely town above. There was this girl, obsessed with this… hidden treasure she always thought so highly of. She died today, pickaxe still holding tight in her claws.”

_ I can only watching as her eyes started to glowed orange, her singing fell into silence.  _ Ghost wants to say that, but decides to spare the statue from the extra details.

“...Is there anything else?” The statue asks after some seconds pass.

Ghost sighs tiredly. “Can we talk about something else? The weather is so cold my wings almost get freeze over.”

But it’s not the cold that cause the hatchling the feel this way. It’s the lack of soul from the long separation from its master, its former pack. But the statue doesn’t know about this either, because Ghost decides not to cause them more sadness too.

“Let me tell you stories of this cartographer and his unrelenting drive at exploring the old lands. I can tell you of the peaceful beauty of the lush Greenpath. And there’s stories of this red troupe and its scarlet master with eyes burn bright too. Or if you want, I can describe you the Kingdom Edge and the serene falling ash that covers the sky.”

The statue give off an expression of a warm smile. “Thank you, dear Ghost. All of them sounds wonderful, marvelous in how you describe it.” They say. “But right now, I want to hear stories of this world and those living it.”

_ Why must you try so hard to know misery? _

“...There’s this knight, dedicated his whole life to protect the Hive and his Queen, though he’s never granted release, even in death.” Ghost starts after a long pause. “He finally had his release just a few moments ago, though through yet another fight. I don’t know how, but I think I saw his Queen there, ghostly and pale, so unlike her giant death carcass.”

“I saw a beetle in his rusty armor, once a knight, now just another soldier living down in the city’s waterway. He’s given a purpose, a mission to carry out. He stays loyal to his cause for so long, unawares of his beloved premise in the groove below.”

And the fly keeps talking, from the stories of the bugs from the sad lonely town above, the tale of a cicada trying to overcome her fear and her premise under the traitor’s claw. Of the midwife living down in the corner of the earth, surrounded herself in darkness and the crazed beast. To the sad ends of the warriors and the knights and the believers, living and fighting and dying.

“I saw a white lady hiding deep in her lush refuge, beautiful and lovely,” The fly continues to speak, weariness in its voice. “She was cradling this broken charm in her roots, eyes sheen ghostly blue. I think broken charm once belonged to her husband who had disappeared sometime ago.”

For one moment, Ghost thinks it can see a glint of recognition in the statue vacant eyes. “I think she was grieving, for both her partner and her children.”

The small hatchling is tired from all the speaking now, wings flutter down as its slowly nods off to sleep on the statue’s shoulder, doesn’t even care as rain continues to pour down on its small body. When the statue speaks again after what feels like hours, voice laces with sadness, Ghost jolts up immediately.

“I’m covered with silver. It’s may not as fine and valuable as gold,” they speak again after a small pause. “But please, take them off leaves by leaves, and deliver it to them.”

“...These silver matters not to them.”

“Still, please do it, for me.”

And leaves after leaves of silver is taken off the statue, leaving them all dull and grey by the end of the day. The small fly finds itself missing the silver gleam from the statue, but is happy regardless because they look somewhat at ease now.

* * *

It takes less time to fly now, choosing to roost upon the statue’s narrow shoulder most of the days, too cold to even move. When it sleeps, its dreams no longer filled with image of its pack and its former life but of day swapping stories with the statue it has come to care for, before it all fades into vast darkness. And Ghost simply knows it’s time has come, hatchling are never meant to live apart from its master after all, but it still can’t find itself to leave the statue alone.

But it cannot bears the weight of leaving them without saying goodbye, either.

“...Sorry for my manner but,” Ghost starts, snuggling closer to the statue neck. “I just realized I’ve never know your name.”

“I never have one, dear Ghost,” they answer. “Nobody have ever give me one beside the title on my plaque. But it would be my pleasure if you do it. I will wear it with pride.”

“That’s a lot for just one name isn’t it?” Ghost cracks jokingly.

But it knows that statue means it. “...Echo.”

“...Yes, my Ghost?”

“I have to fly now, it’s time for me to go.”

“Finally! Please go and find someplace else, return to your pack even. If I’m not mistaken, the winter session is about to come and it will be very cold here for beings like you. Though I will miss you dearly.”

For a single, lonely moment, Ghost is happy that they’re still just a statue, that they cannot fully comprehend death after all. And that’s enough.

“Before I go, I want to make a request.”

Ghost flies up, looking at the statue directly in their eyes, watching as fat water droplets flowing out of the sockets and create thin flowing line. It gleams so beautifully. “Can I kiss you before I go? On the cheek, if you prefer it that way.”

A pause again, and it is so long the fly thinks maybe that statue hates kissing, hates it for asking for something like that. But when the statue,  _ Echo _ , answers it, Ghost is filled with joy, because they say yes. And because they say—

“—I love you too.”

Ghost never cried before, it doesn’t know if it’s capable of it. In this moment, it thanks the rain and wish it could.

“You truly are unbelievable.”

And when Ghost gets closer to press its mask softly against the statue grey snout, its wings flutter once, twice, before they stop the motions completely. Small claws brushing their face lovingly.

…

It vaguely wonders if death is like sleeping. It hopes not, because it has seen someone died before, going to sleep only to wake up again, mindless and savage because of the light in dream. It’s happy the same doesn’t happen to it, because its dream isn’t ill with golden light, but darkness and dim silver rays from somewhere far away.

But death brings eternity of separation, and Ghost in its last moment regrets its death. Because it will never be able to see its Echo again. It doesn’t even know if there’s such a place for being like it.

But—

_ But if my short existence can bring you some happiness, albeit how small it is, them I’m glad I can dedicate it to you. _

The moment the fly small body touches the ground in front of Echo’s feet and shatters into millions piece of white glowing shards, something, too, break inside the statue’s chest. The curious crack echoed in their mind, severed the bond they have in their lifeless body and the statue goes silent, lifeless.

Yet, the rain goes on.

Nobody know much of the story after that. The living few can only look in curious at the statue, now dull and grey and have so many cracks on their old body, no longer bearing the royalty silver gleam or those shining jewelry they once bore. Maybe someone breaks and cracks open the statue and throw them away after the plague is vanquished, because no one need the dread reminder of the gruesome past. Maybe those beings have a soul of their own, departed to somewhere where they finally can have their peace and happiness.

Maybe, they’ve found their destinations and purposes.

But this is an end that isn’t meant to be.

The story now end because of their deaths.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: remember the stone table with PK’s notes in the Black Egg temple and the whole “Through bound, you shall know the state of the world”?
> 
> Yeah, PK’s transfer most of PV’s conscious into their statue in the City of Tears.
> 
> Yeah...


End file.
